


Between the Shelves

by Maiika



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Meet-Cute, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25881529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiika/pseuds/Maiika
Summary: Iruka is having an ordinary day at work in the bookstore when an odd customer leaves a deep impact on his day.
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka
Kudos: 72





	Between the Shelves

**Author's Note:**

> From the prompt: “You come here often?” “Well, I work here. So I think I’d have to say ‘yes’.”?
> 
> Originally written and posted for tumblr

Iruka loves the smell of old books. Some of his coworkers don’t understand his fascination with musty old pages, and he understands their perspective. They’ve been handled by a multitude of people over the years, exposed to nasty germs and perhaps other questionable fluids, but something about them is so nostalgic that Iruka can’t use reason when it comes to them. He is so swept up in emotion when he picks up the book with tattered yellow pages and a weak spine, which smells so remarkably close to the book his parents used to read to him together just before they passed, that he doesn’t notice the customer hovering over his shoulder until he places the book delicately back on its shelf.

“Oh!” Iruka jumps back from the line of books, clearing the way for the customer. “I’m sorry.”

The customer is a man appearing to be in his mid-twenties, with spikes of silver hair and a scar bisecting his left eye. He’s slouched and stoic as he looks Iruka up and down with a lazy sweep of his gaze. Iruka gulps as he takes in his unexpected beauty caused by the juxtaposition of his ease and the threatening vibe he gives off.

  
“Was I...in your way?” Iruka asks, rubbing at the bridge of his nose where his scar seems to throb self-consciously as he takes in the other man's scar.

“Well,” the stranger drawls as he steps forward, peeling a book from the shelf where Iruka just stood, “as it happens, you were.”  
  


“Oh.”  
  


Iruka bites back the sharp retort he feels coming, the desire to chastise this customer’s blunt rudeness. As the customer thumbs through the pages of the novel of his choosing, Iruka gnaws the inside of his cheek and runs the entire spiel of his chastising through his mind. He’s been scolded once before for losing his temper with some disrespectful customers and he’s on his last warning now. He won’t risk losing this job over a customer being cold and short with him.  
  


The stranger peers over the pages of his book, meeting Iruka’s eyes with a glare. “Do you mind?”  
  


“Do I-“ Iruka sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, drawing blood as he clenches his fists at his sides.   
  


This customer has the audacity to dismiss him. This is not something Iruka will stand for. The customer returns his eyes to his novel, mentally dismissing Iruka before his physical presence is even removed. This only increases Iruka’s fury.  
  


“Listen here!” he grounds out, pointing a rigid finger at the stranger. “You do not get to dismiss people from these aisles. Everyone here is entitled to-“  
  


“Take up all the space in this section? Hover over people while they’re trying to read? Monopolize shelves?”  
  


Iruka growls. “You, Sir, do not belong in this bookstore.”  
  


There. He _said_ it. He doesn’t care if he loses his job for this one. Academy Books is a _friendly_ bookstore. It’s a place where everyone should feel welcome to take their time and peruse if they choose.  
  


The stranger closes the book and peers at Iruka. “ _You_ come here often?”  
  


Iruka furrows his brows, flustered into a loss of words at the unexpected question. He thinks his reason for enforcing the ways of this bookstore are perfectly clear.

“Well,” he says, scratching the back of his neck, his face heating under the scrutiny of the customer’s intense gaze, “I work here. So I think I’d have to say ‘yes’.”  
  


“Ah.” The stranger smiles with a flash of teeth, and his smile is _sexy_ , the curve of his lower lip bringing Iruka’s attention to the beauty mark below it. “I noticed the way you were giving that book such adoration,” the stranger continues, sliding his free hand into his pocket. “Why did you put it back?”

“Well, because - it’s not mine,” Iruka says. “Like I said, I _work_ here.”  
  


As he takes time to further process the question though, he realizes there’s no reason he _can’t_ take the book. The content is good, if a little raunchy in this section for his taste, but the nostalgia alone is almost worth the purchase.  
  


“That’s too bad,” the stranger says.

His disappointment seems to run deeper than sympathy for Iruka’s willingness to let this book go. He seems disappointed in Iruka as a person, which is ridiculous when this man doesn’t even know him. But as Iruka takes in the downcast eyes and the deepening of this man’s slouch, he can’t help feeling a little ashamed. And then defensive, because _why should he?_

“If I want to buy a book,” Iruka says haughtily, “I’ll buy it when I’m ready.”  
  


“I’m buying this one,” the stranger says, clutching the book in his hand to his chest. “What if I buy _that_ one, too?”

Iruka blinks. “You want to buy my book?”

“Oh, it’s your book now? But Iruka-Sensei, you said you’re not ready to buy it.”  
  


Iruka furrows his brows, flabbergasted. This oddly amused stranger shouldn’t know his name. _And_ , “Sensei?” _What?_  
  


The customer points to Iruka’s chest. Iruka follows the line of his finger to look down at his green nametag from Konoha High, the one he apparently forgot to remove again after leaving his tutoring shift to come here for this second job.  
  


Iruka shakes his head. “I’m not a teacher.”  
  


The customer raises his brow, a flicker of interest. “Well,” he drawls, moving in a languid stretch to replace the book he carries on the bookshelf, “I’m not here to buy books, either.”  
  


“No?” Iruka raises a brow. “Then why are you here?”  
  


He’s suspicious now, because he knows a book lover when he sees one. Even if this man is pretending to browse and has ulterior motives for being here, Iruka saw the way his eyes lit while skimming through the pages. He wasn’t bluffing about buying the book, either. Maybe Iruka’s, but not that first one. Not the one he was reading.  
  


The stranger cracks another gorgeous smile. “Let’s just say I’m not a cop.”  
  


His eyes crease as his smile becomes cheeky, almost cute, and he steps away. Iruka chokes as he realizes this guy might be for real. The bookstore may be in jeopardy of some sort of shootout or illicit activity while he’s on shift and he does not want to have to explain this.  
  


“I told you before,” Iruka says, rounding a corner and seizing the stranger by the collar before he can move any further, “and I’ll say it again. You do not belong in this bookstore, Sir. And you shouldn’t drag whatever you have going on into here. This is a family place. Please, leave.”  
  


The stranger turns, his eyes darting past Iruka before all joviality leaves his features. “Get down, Sensei. Please.”  
  


His lip quirks with a smile before he’s lunging past Iruka and shoving him by the shoulder toward the ground. Iruka clutches course carpet fibers and growls, ready to spew a tirade at the inconsiderate, manhandling jackass refusing to leave the bookstore. But before Iruka can stand upright, glass shatters, the sound as sharp as the shards falling to the floor and the sidewalk outside. He slides books aside on the nearest shelf, clearing a passage for his view as he looks toward the disruption from his safe vantage point.   
  


At the door, a pair of men in black leather laugh and step over the broken glass, one dragging a wooden bat behind him, the other propping his on his shoulder as if he’s ready to step up to the plate. Iruka’s obstinate customer has his back pressed against a bookshelf, hidden from the vandals’ view, but clear to Iruka’s. His jaw moves as he presses a small device close to his lips, and Iruka closes his eyes, breathing a sigh of relief at knowing this is being reported. The jerk wasn’t misleading Iruka about being a cop. When Iruka opens his eyes again, he curses under his breath. A young boy is curled up in the corner, just steps away from the criminals, and there’s no telling what they intend to do with the innocent people here.  
  


When Iruka returns his gaze to the cop, the cop is staring straight back at him. He raises his brows and a pistol he’s pulled seemingly out of nowhere, and nudges his head in the direction of the child. Iruka grits his teeth as he returns his gaze to the boy who now has silent tears rolling down his chubby cheeks. If he didn’t have the cop’s permission, he would do this anyway. He can’t stand by and let people hurt a child.  
  


When the smoke clears and the men are shoved into the back of a police car, bloody and beaten, Iruka is glad to be holding the child safely against his side. He feels the way the boy’s shoulders tremble, recognizes his loss of color for shock, but isn’t prepared to give him more than a solid embrace just yet.  
  


Iruka may be in shock, too, after what he’s just witnessed.  
  


“Perps are heading to the station, Kakashi,” says the unformed cop who arrived at the scene within minutes of Iruka plummeting to the child’s side on the floor. “You want anything? Donut? Dog food?”  
  


_Kakashi’s_ dead-eyed stare and the cop’s shit-eating grin say these offers aren’t genuine. There’s camaraderie here, and curiously, Iruka catches himself wishing to be a part of it.

“Sensei,” Kakashi says, his voice deep and low, muffled into his shirt with his chin tucked against his chest as he turns away from his partner. “Good work.”  
  


“Thank you,” Iruka breathes before catching that damn nickname again and narrowing his eyes at Kakashi. “It’s not-“  
  


He huffs. This seems to please the officer, who looks up from the files he’s been flipping through to shoot Iruka a squinty-eyed smile.  
  


Kakashi’s eyes regain all seriousness as he says, “You may have saved that boy’s life today. Not just anyone would throw themselves into the line of fire for a stranger like that. You didn’t even hesitate.”  
  


“No,” Iruka says with conviction, smiling down at the boy who finally looks up to meet his eyes. “I didn’t.”  
  


“What are you doing tonight, Iruka-Sensei?” Kakashi’s eyes are locked on Iruka when he looks up from the boy. “Would you like to come out for a drink?”  
  


Iruka gnaws his bottom lip. Heat rushes to his face as the boy shifts against his side, just as attentive to the cop’s brazen invitation as Iruka. He wants to go out with the cop. There’s no doubt about it. But he doesn’t know what to say.  
  


“Unless,” Kakashi drawls, his confidence wavering as he reads Iruka’s hesitation, “you have a third job. Security guard? Exotic dancer?”  
  


“ _What_ ,” Iruka exclaims as his cheeks flame and he claps his hands over the boy’s ears, “is _wrong_ with you? _No_ other job.”

Kakashi shrugs, unabashed. “So?”

“So, what?”  
  


“There’s a nice little tavern near the precinct. What time do you want to meet?”  
  


Iruka knows the place, a little dirty maybe, but dark and quiet - good for getting to know a person. Iruka eases his hands from the boy’s ears, feeling his tension abate at the conversation’s more civil turn. Kakashi is a little difficult to deal with, but Iruka feels drawn to him. He wants to know more about what led a cop into his bookstore. He wants to know more about Kakashi.  
  


“Eight o’clock,” he says as butterflies dance in his stomach. “Don’t be late.”  
  


Kakashi’s eyes crease as he smiles. “Of course, Sensei.”


End file.
